Breathing
by hyacinth beaver
Summary: He thought he could control it. He thought he could forget. He thought he could handle it. He thought what the hell. The Sons of Ipswich each have a challenge that they need to face before it is too late.
1. Prologue I: Without Tears

**A/N: Yeah yeah. I know. She is at it again. Another new story. Eek. I know. This was an idea that has been boiling in my head for the past month now and I needed to get things out of my system. Now please, bear with me people. I need to make things right. Ha. Now, this is a story of love, betrayal, death and everything in between. It will combine the first and second generation of the Son's of Ipswich and hopefully it will give love to those who really need it. Hopeful it is good. I would just like to note, this story is not all about Reid. It is about all the Sons. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing you recognize. However, the characterizations are mine as well as the lovely Francesca Blake and Georgia Sand.  
**

**Prologue I  
Without Tears**

His hand grazed upon her shoulder as the coffin slowly passed them. He was gone now. All she had in the world was her son who had put his hand in comfort. She didn't know why. She wasn't crying. She had not shed a single tear since he died. Not one. All she did was call the doctor so he could announce the time of death. Next she fixed the legal papers. Everything her husband own had to be transferred to her son's name as soon as possible. She called the funeral home and told them to embalm his body at the earliest possible time. She ate dinner. She took a long hot bath. And finally, she went to sleep.

And now, she was just watching his remains be buried six feet underground. How could she not cry, while saying goodbye?

"May his soul rest in peace among the angels in heaven as well his loved ones…"

She couldn't even understand what the priest was saying. She wasn't listening at all. She wasn't doing anything. She was just staring into space. She was numb.

"Mother…"

She was snapped out of her reverie by her son's voice. She looked around to see that the mound had been filled in and that the tombstone had already been set in place. The service was over and she and her son were the only people left.

"Mother, are you alright?"

She turned her head and looked up from the brim of her hat. He looked so much like his father. Same eyes. Same smile. Same recklessness. It was a miracle that there seemed to be no semblance of her in him. If she didn't know better, she would say that the boy was his father. She turned her head back and faced the tombstone once more.

**Here Lies**  
_**Joseph Andrew Garwin**_  
**Born **_**July 31, 1965**_**. Died **_**August 12, 2007**_  
**Beloved Husband and Father and Friend**  
"_**There is more to life than breathing."**_

Just like James.

And soon, her son would be on the same path too.

"I am fine."

**-o-**

Reid walked to the road to where he parked his car. But as he came to the lot, he noticed that his friends were still there waiting around Tyler's Hummer. All the Sons of Ipswich were there to support him at this time. Reid's father died one night, it was in a hospital bed, private. No one was allowed to speak a word about his father's condition. To the doctors, it was an inexplicable degenerative disease that the family kept secret. To the Covenant, it was dying the inevitable death.

Caleb was the first to approach his friend. No. This was not because of his aching feeling of responsibility, being the unofficial leader of the group. It was not often that they got along with each other, but this time, there was an affinity between the two. Both had fathers lost to the power which they wielded. Of course, James Danvers' untimely end came when he willed his power to his son, but there was still a great amount of empathy that came from the eldest. Caleb clasped his hand on Reid's shoulder and stopped him before he entered the car.

"Hey man, are you alright?"

"My father just died Caleb. What do you think?" Reid said, shrugging off his friend's hand. He had always been that type of person. Empathy was pity to him, and it was something he didn't want, nor need. He just wanted to get back to school so he could get his mind on something else, other than his mother's blank stare. "She didn't even cry, not one tear."

It was a well known fact around the right circles, that Meredith Garwin was not exactly the most expressive of women. She was cold and distant, even to her own family. There were only a handful of times that Reid had even seen his own mother's smile. It was only too sad that she quickly hid them once they were noticed. Reid knew that his father loved Meredith's smile.

Reid thought that his father's death would have been enough to see some reaction from his mother. He kept waiting for it the day that Joseph died in that hospital. But no. Not one word. She just called the doctor, called the lawyers and called the funeral home.

He knew his father was hopelessly in love with his mother. But most of the time, he just felt like Joseph was never in the receiving end of that love.

He started the engine, put his foot on the gas and just drove on.

The rest of the Sons could do nothing but watch him as he drove. It was typical Reid, explosive, then reclusive.

"Do you have any idea where my son is headed?" Said a voice from behind them. It was Mrs. Garwin. She had once again dawned her sunglasses, hiding her expressionless eyes from the boys' scrutiny.

"Sorry Aunt Meredith. He didn't say anything." Said Caleb. He knew he would have to be the one to speak for the group. Tyler had always been unnerved by his best friend's mother. As for Pogue, he was never good in funerals. He didn't actually know what to say to a woman who had just lost her husband or a son that had lost his father. He was the only one of the Covenant who still had his father. No matter how aged, his father was still alive.

"Well." She said monotonously. "When he comes back, please tell him to pay me a visit. There are things to be said and I want to do it face by face. Goodbye boys. Please say hello to your mothers for me, and give them my apologies for not being able to attend to them at the funeral." With that, the woman turned around and walked away from them.

**-o-**

Garwin Manor was not exactly one of the most appealing homes in Massachusetts. It was dark. Meredith liked keeping it that way. The drapes were always pulled, covering the windows entirely and blocking the light from entering. Reid pulled up the drive way of his childhood home with familiarity despite the appearance of the house. In a way, the house itself reflected his mother.

Meredith Garwin was the only person in the world Reid was actually scared of. She was the only one who could make him act like a total gentleman. She was the only person he would obey when giving out orders. She was the only person he couldn't look at straight in the eye without deterring a few seconds later. Her silence and her calm were intimidating. Her very presence commanded respect. None of the other Ipswich wives held her disposition. For that, he was thankful.

The servants had told him that his mother had been waiting for him in the conservatory. It was the only room in the house that was allowed sunlight. The conservatory was his mother's favorite room.

It was late that night and so instead of seeing a clear blue sky, all he could see above was the sparkling stars. He came in and found her in the far end of the room, carefully watering her plants before she went to bed. The only affection his mother ever showed was for her plants. Prize winning roses and ribbon garnering begonias. Reid grew up watching his mother repot her seedlings, water the ferns and tend to the hybrids.

Without turning around, his mother spoke to him in her normal hushed tone. "Get a watering can Reid and make yourself useful."

He did as he was told. He took one of the watering cans on the table beside the doorway and started helping his mother. He was shocked. She had never asked anyone to help her before. It was always Meredith and Meredith alone who would take care of this conservatory. Not even the servants were allowed this. Reid quickly gained composure and spoke to hide his confusion. "So Mother, I know you didn't call me here to ask for help in watering the plants."

"Really now Reid. Have I taught you no manners at all? Aren't you even going to tell me about your day before we start with business?"

"Well, you would know all about that wouldn't you Mother. We were at the same funeral weren't we?"

"You know what I mean. Please son. Ignorance does not become you"

"It is inconsequential Mother. Please, do get to the point."

"Very well then." Meredith gently placed the watering can on the small stand beside her as she sat down on the patio. She raised an eyebrow at her son's cheek, but let it slide. He never argued with her, but Reid found this day as good as any to start the habit. "Sit down."

As soon as Reid, once more, did as he was told, Meredith brought out an old leather bound book, filled with yellowing pictures and newspaper clippings. It seemed to date all the way back to the Salem Witch trials. "Do you know what this is?" She asked him.

"The family records." Every family of the Covenant had a book such as this. The Book of Damnation was not the only one to record their passage through history. There were also personal family records that were passed through the ages to ensure that the family's legacy and secrets were kept intact. Reid remembered his father showing it to him one time, but he had not seen it since. Why would his mother bring it out now?

"This book contains decades upon decades of Garwin family events and secrets. I have just filled the latest pages with a record of your father's funeral." She said as she flipped the book carefully to show her neat handwriting upon the pages.

"Why are you showing me this Mother?"

"Look at the pages before that. Before the accounts on your father."

The boy turn the pages backwards, passing through his father's diploma and birth certificate before arriving at the account of his grandfather's funeral.

"Jacob Garwin. Died 1971. He was twenty seven. Your father was only six when he died." She said, pointing at the picture of the young Joseph Garwin and his mother at the funeral. Reid had never seen this picture before in his life. He didn't even know that his father was so young when his grandfather died. "Look further back, to your great grandfather." Meredith continued. But she began speaking even before Reid found the page. "Isaac Garwin. Died 1958. He was Thirty five and your Grandfather was fifteen. Shall I go on?"

"What is the point of this entire lesson Mother?" Reid said impatiently. He didn't need a lecture on family history and he didn't need to know when his ancestors died. He didn't see the relevance in all of this.

"The point is Reid, this family's eldest males do not last past their forty's. Six generations of first born sons have died by the addiction." She finished, closing the book and putting it back in its wooden box. She spoke it without even faltering or raising her voice. Despite the insurrection her son was showing her, she remained perfectly calm about everything. "You are bordering addiction."

"Mother, I get this lecture from Caleb everyday. I know already." He spoke in an exasperated voice.

"Oh, no you don't." She quietly snapped at him. "I can see it in you. You get a sense of euphoria every time you use. You can't help but give into it. The Urge. You have no self control whatsoever. Just like your father…if you are not careful you may end up…"

"What?!" He now raised his voice. "I might end up just like him? What is so bad about that Mother, it seems to be the family tradition right? Who am I to deny our _legacy_?" He spoke with venom as he stood up and prepared to walk away. His father had just died. He didn't need his mother making the matters worse by talking about _his_ imminent death.

But before he could walk out the door, her voice stopped him. "Don't you dare Reid." It froze him to his spot. Her power over him had nothing to do with magic, and yet it seemed to be more powerful than anything that the Covenant could conjure up. He turned around and went back to the seat across from her. His head hung low, partly in shame and partly in anger. He could not look her in the eyes. To see them blank at a time like this was unnerving for him.

"Now. As I was saying. The lifespan of the Garwin men are not exactly long lasting. You will be ascending soon won't you?"

"On the twenty eighth."

"My son, eighteen years old. How time flies. I wonder if Evelyn and Beatrice felt this way when their sons ascended." Reid doubted that Meredith felt anything at that moment. If she did, then she was damn well at hiding it for most of his life. "As you said earlier, you need to protect the legacy. It is your duty to your family."

He raised his head at her words. "What are you saying Mother?"

"Your father is gone. Everything is now entitled to you. You are the Garwin heir. What I am saying Reid, is that you need to start thinking about securing the bloodline for the next generation."

"Are you seriously saying that..."

"Yes. That is exactly what I am saying." She interrupted him in mid-tirade. Meredith had never been lenient towards the public display of rage. Many a time she chastised her son on his hothead behavior. She was not going to tolerate it. "And you will keep your propriety in my presence."

"Sorry mother, we can't all be as _calm _as you." Each word that left his mouth was oozing with disdain. He once again stood up from where he sat and walked on, not even turning back. He went on storming out of the house.

**A/N: Hopefully, you liked that. It is to be the beginning of a hell of a lot of twirling events. By the way, there are 4 Prologues to look out for. They will be little sneaks to the companion fic...Prologue. Yes, aren't I creative with titles, rolls eyes**

**Please do comment on my characterizations. Especially about Meredith and Reid.**

**My next Prologue is entitled : Prologue II: When We Danced  
Mainly about the Parrys so Pogue fans get your freak on. **

**Please give me your comments! I swear I love you all. Constructive Criticisms are welcome. Don't flame if you know what is good for you, because I can bit back pretty hard on your ass. **

**Please check out my website for the Casting Call on this fic and for the Featured Sneak.**


	2. Prologue II: When We Danced

**Prologue II  
When We Danced**

A knock came softly at the door. She had just come home from a dear friend's funeral and the first thing she did when she arrived at her house was check up on her husband. She entered the dark room and lit open the small lamp by the bedside. It was a dim light. She didn't want to startle him if ever he was asleep. She smiled. She was right. It was good that he was resting. He needed it.

He didn't look it, but the man was only forty two years old. For an ordinary on looker, her husband looked more like her grandfather. His hair was way past graying and immediately went to white. His skin was wrinkled and sallow. His breathing was difficult. His heartbeat was faint. But he still looked as handsome as he did all those years ago when they first met.

Oh he was quite a charmer back then. All the women instantly fell for him the moment he flashed his famous smile. Oh how that smile used to drive her mad. She smiled in remembrance. No matter how old…_aged_ he looked right now, she would always remember that caddish rogue who stole her heart.

She went on to sit beside him in his bed. She put her head to his chest. His heartbeat was faint, but still there. She loved doing this when they were younger, back when the effects had not yet come to pass. She loved just lying there, hearing his heart beat, once then twice. One after the other. Steady. Constant. Just like they were. Constant.

Long ago, he actually confessed to her that he was scared. He was scared that when the day came that he would finally start aging, that she would abhor him and leave. She just smiled and promised him that that would never happen. She would never leave him.

She kept her promise.

"Beatrice?" His raspy voice resounded in her ears.

Beatrice Parry turned her head towards her husband and looked to him. She smiled. "Yes love. It's me. I'm here." She spoke softly.

"I didn't notice you come in." He spoke once more as he grasped for air.

"I didn't want to wake you. I just came in."

"How was the funeral?"

"It was fine." She said as she fixed her positioning, taking off her shoes and lying down beside him. She put her head on his shoulder and put her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat once again.

"How did the bastard look?" Wayne spoke again, this time with a small laugh.

"Meredith kept it a close casket."

"That bad?" He joked.

"You always did say that you looked better than him."

"Oh and I still do."

"You've still got it Wayne." She hit him gingerly on the chest. "Your ego never seems to change does it?"

"Never. I know you love it, so why change what is not broken." Wayne coughed after he spoke. Beatrice immediately took the oxygen mask from the side of the bed and gave it to him.

"Breath in. Shhh." She cooed to him. She held the mask up to his nose as he took in the air, slowly feeling relieved. "Maybe you shouldn't talk right now. I can just tell you about it. Does that sound good?"

The man replied with a nod. His wife smiled as he took the hand that she placed upon his chest and interlaced his own fingers in her own.

"Well. It was all very solemn. Much like James' first burial. Meredith didn't say much. You know how she is nowadays. Reid was very distraught. I could see it in his face that he didn't like the way his mother was dealing with it all. I can't blame her though. It is just her way. Caleb was being the good elder Son and tried to talk to him. But you know Reid, so much like his father. Evelyn didn't make it. Caleb didn't say why, but I think you know. I told him to tell her that I would visit one day. It has been a long time since I've seen her. Well, Rosalind was there too. Tyler brought her there. Such a sweet boy. And Pogue, well he is your son…"

Wayne's chest moved up and down in stifled laughter. Yes. If he did know his son, he would be uncomfortable in the situation. They were alike in that. They didn't handle personal situations like that very well. They weren't very emotional beings, except when it came to the women they loved.

"Do you remember that time when you first asked me out?" She said after a long pause.

"How could I forget?" A small smirk played on his lips. "You slapped me right after."

"No I did not." She said defensively. Of course it was a lie. She did slap him. But he deserved it.

"I may be old my darling, but I am not senile yet." He laughed.

"You are not old my Love." Her tone suddenly became serious, despite his intended joke. "You will never be old to me."

"I wish I took you dancing more often, while I could have."

"Don't worry Wayne. I've had enough dancing already. This is far better than that."

**-o-**

Pogue listened outside the door as his parents talked. He had come home minutes after his mom did and he decided to go up and visit his dad. He found out that he had already been beaten to it. By the small opening of the door, he could see his mother lying beside his father, hands interlaced. They were laughing, softly talking about something. He smiled inwardly. After all these years, it was amazing to see his parents were still so in love with each other. He never saw anyone that could compare to them.

He admired his mother's devotion, her unwavering love for his father. Most would have up and left already given the same situation. His father aged quickly, now looking the part of a seventy year old man, but his mother still looked at him the same way as she did all those years ago.

As of last Friday, Pogue Parry was officially the last of the Sons of Ipswich to have his father alive. Wayne was old and frail, but still breathing. Much like the fathers of his Brothers, his father was too addicted to the power. Fortunately, he reformed, but it was too late in life. He had already aged too much for his condition to go unnoticeable. Pogue didn't know what happened for him to have such a change of heart, but somehow he knew that his mother had something to do with it.

Beatrice Parry was far from perfect. She couldn't cook. She wasn't always on time in picking up her son from school. She couldn't help her son with homework. But despite all that, Pogue really didn't care. Whenever he saw how much she tried, it balanced out for her lack of execution finesse.

Pogue noticed that her mother was standing up now. She kissed his father's forehead and tucked him in under the blankets. She was heading for the door.

"Pogue." She smiled at the sight of her son at the other side of the door. "What are you doing here?" She continued as she closed the door and started to walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

"I decided to visit Dad." Pogue kissed his mother's cheek.

"How nice. Well, you can go in if you'd like. I'm just off to make him some tea to help him get back to sleep."

"No. No. I'll help you."

"Alright then."

They entered the kitchen and Beatrice instantly got to work, putting some water on the kettle and placing it on the fire to boil. "Pogue, darling, will you get the tray and the china while I try to find the tea bags?"

Pogue did as he was told, going to the cupboards and trying to find the things his mother had asked him to get. The kitchen had not changed since he had last gone in. Everything was kept where it had always been. Nothing had been moved out of place, so he was able to find the tray and china fairly easy.

He placed the items on the counter and arranged it for his mother. When he looked to find what she was up to, he found her still snooping around the wrong places in search of the tea bags.

"They're in the upper cupboard Mother. The second shelf." He smiled. All these years living in the same house and she still didn't know where everything went.

"Oh thank you dear. I still can't find my way around this kitchen." She laughed lightheartedly.

"So where is Helen? Isn't she supposed to be taking care of Dad?" He asked nonchalantly as he sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

"Your father must have sent her home before he went to bed."

"Stubborn."

"Just like you."

They both laughed at the irony of it. Pogue was much like his father. Impulsive and stubborn. Not reckless though. They just did as they fancied.

"I'm scared son."

"Mom?"

"I'm scared." She said it once again, now looking at him. Her voice was more solemn now. Pogue didn't know what brought about her sudden change of mood, but that was his mother. "He is the only one left now."

"Don't worry about it Mom. Dad doesn't use anymore, remember. He will be around for ages. You'll see." He made a sad attempt at making his mother feel better. But they both knew the truth. Wayne was not in the best health. It was not using that would eventually be his demise. It would be his poor health. "Dad won't be leaving us anytime soon." He smiled at her.

The smile once again graced Beatrice's face. "You're right. What was I thinking."

"I heard you and dad talking earlier."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I didn't know you two liked to go dancing?" He said amusingly.

"Oh yes. Your father used to love to take me dancing. It was when you were very little. That man spoiled me to high heavens. He would just call Helen and have her take you so he could take me out the whole night."

Pogue laughed. He loved hearing his mother talk like this. It was as if she was a completely different nostalgic person when she talked about how Wayne was before the addiction started sinking in.

"You know Pogue, I met your father just when we were about your age."

"He told me."

"Oh he did, did he? Well back then, he was a very cocky idiot. Thought he could get me with one look."

"Ah, but you gave him trouble didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Don't tell him I told you, but I did slap him. He'll just say I couldn't keep my hands off him." She laughed. "Oh you should have seen his face."

"If I know dad, it only made him try harder." Pogue laughed. He had heard this story before, but in a different version. His father had a tendency to bend the truth to his advantage. Yet another gift he gave to his son.

"Oh Pogue. One day you are going to meet a girl that is going to make you try so much harder, and it will all be worth it in the end." She smiled at her son.

The thing was, he already had. There was a girl who had made him try harder, but she left two years ago without so much as an explanation. But now. He now had Kate. With Kate, he didn't even need to try. She was there. They were on the same page already. He didn't need to try harder because he already had her.

The kettle whistled at she immediately stood up. "Why don't you go on ahead and bring this to your dad. I'll be up in a minute."

Pogue smiled and took the tray up stairs. He knocked on the door and entered the dimly lit room where his father resided.

"Hey Dad." He said as he kissed his father's forehead. "You look good today."

"Don't I always look good?" He managed a raspy laugh that was followed by coughing.

"Hey. Ease up there Dad. Wouldn't want Mom to go crazy now do we?" Pogue laughed as he poured his father a cup of tea. He blew on it for a while, cooling it before helping his father drink some. "Mom told me the story."

"Ah. And did she confess to slapping me?"

"Yeah."

"See? What did I tell you? Couldn't keep her hands off me."

The father and son laughed the night away as they talked some more before the elder finally fell asleep. All thoughts of death far from the younger's mind, just a few thoughts on what his mother had mentioned at their talk.

Was he content not trying harder?

**A/N: Now isn't Beatrice and Wayne the bestest! I love their pairing like hell. There is going to be more of them in the companion piece, don't worry. Now Pogue's life just got a little more indepth. I saw that his life was the easiest in the Sons of Ipswich and hence I wanted to give the boy a little bit of problems. I read into his literary archetype, his is definitely a lover archetype who's downfall will be passion and his "addiction" to the feeling of being in love. I just gave you a snippet there. Talking too much. **

** The next chapter will be entitled : Prologue III: Lapsing Intoxication.  
Caleb fans say WHOOT!**

**R&R people. Thank you.**

**- the hyacinth beaver : rita  
**


	3. Prologue III: Lapsing Intoxication

**Prologue III: Lapsing Intoxication**

She could hear a car pulling up the driveway. No doubt it was Caleb coming home from the funeral.

It was no surprise to people that day that the illusive Evelyn Danvers was nowhere to be seen. She had been in recluse since her husband died a few years ago and had disappeared, faded into the walls of her grand mansion. People started forgetting her, and if they did somehow carry a memory of the woman, it would be because of her reputation as a drunk. Yes. Evelyn Danvers had disappeared from the minds and concerns of the people of Ipswich. Only her son cared for her now.

She sat in front of the fire that evening, much like she did almost every night. After all, this was the first place James ever showed her that day he took her home. It was a grand fire place indeed with roaring flames inside. But it was not the flames she was staring at. Bourbon in her hand and cigarette burning on the ashtray, she stared at the wood details of the fireplace. The wood details that her husband had 'vandalized' for her.

**Evie**

If his parents knew what he had done to the century year old fixture, they would have turned on their graves. It was only too lucky that the former Mr. Danvers had already died and the old Mrs. Danvers had moved upstate to live on her own. The carving was for the eyes of Evelyn alone.

This day had been harder to bear than most. After all, another one of her husband's _brothers_ was being buried that very day. Joseph Garwin was a dear friend to her and James and his passing caused her to finish not one, but two bottle of Scotch that day. The Bourbon was just to cap off the day.

She picked up her glass and drank the last of its contents. The alcohol stung as it made its way down her throat but she didn't care. The comfort it brought her outweighed any discomfort it caused.

_And so another falls._

**-o-**

Caleb wasn't the least bit surprised to see the light still on when he got home. His mother was not one to turn in early in the evenings. She was the kid of person who stayed up late into the night, even until the early morning. She would not go to bed unless someone forced her, and unfortunately such a tedious job always befell to him to carry out.

There were days when Caleb wished that he lived in the dorms like all the other students in Spencer Academy. There were days when he wished that he could come home to a room full of laughing friends instead of a woman, clad in nothing but yesterday's nightgown, sitting in front of the fire and drinking herself to numbness.

His mother had been like that ever since his father fell to addiction. Drinking was the only way she could block everything out. Her husband was slowly dying for a power that would pass on to her son. Caleb could only guess what thoughts ran through his mother's head as she took that first bottle of Whiskey to bed with her. Since then, she had been inconsolable and stuck in her ways.

The young man walked into the den to see the exact picture he had expected to see. There were no surprises in store for him. It was still his drunken mother wallowing in the miseries of the past.

"Welcome home my dutiful son." She said from her chair. He did not even look behind, not even once. She always knew when it was Caleb approaching. She said it was because his steps were just like his father's.

"Mother, haven't you had enough yet?"

"No. No." She protested as she poured herself another glass. "I am drinking in honor of Joseph today. Such a life needs to be commemorated." The woman raised the glass to her lips and took a long sip at the amber liquid. "So how was the funeral?"

Caleb didn't know how to answer that. How did you answer such a question? How was the funeral? It was solemn. A man was buried and people grieved. But he couldn't answer that. His mother already knew that. Being a wife of a Son of Ipswich, you grew accustomed to funerals early on in your life. He took a deep sharp breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "It was fine. People asked about you."

"Me?" She said amusedly. "I'm surprised they even remember I existed." Her voice sounded bitter. Perhaps it was just the alcohol. Or perhaps it was the wasted life speaking through her mouth.

"I sent Aunt Meredith your regards."

Suddenly, Caleb saw an expression of anger in his mother's eyes. She held her glass tighter. No doubt, if she had the strength, it would have shattered in her fingers. Her eyes narrowed and her breath became ragged.

"What's the matter mother?" He asked, taking her hand and putting down the glass.

"I gave you no such permission Caleb." She whispered vehemently.

"It was a funeral mother. What did you expect me to do?" Caleb never did understand her mother's dislike for Meredith Garwin. It was certain that she was not the most expressive and affectionate people in the world, but the woman had just lost her husband and thus deserved all the condolences that could be given. Caleb thought it best to give his mother's courtesies as well, even if it was without her permission and knowledge. He wasn't going to apologize for it.

"Next time Caleb, leave me to give my own regards." Most certainly, they would not be directed towards Meredith. "How was the woman anyway?" Evelyn scoffed. "Did she cry?" A sly smirk rose to her face.

Caleb could only shake his head at his mother's behavior. "You know she didn't."

"You know, she wasn't always like that." It was as if she spoke through a trance. "I saw Meredith cry once. Her tears looked like pearls. Joseph loved her more than his own life." Nothing his mother said made sense, but it affected him. A single tear ran down her cheek as she spoke. Caleb would have wiped it away had it not been for the look in his mother's eyes. It was as if she was telling him not to come near her, to leave her alone…that she was tired of pity.

"Mother…"

"Reid looks so much like his father. The only thing Meredith gave him was her was her words."

"Mother, you're not making sense, you should probably ---"

"Your father gave you his words too. That's why your promises won't mean anything. You'll still be addicted. Poor me. I will lose two of my loves."

Caleb looked at his mother as she spoke. It was as if the words themselves brought her pain. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Perhaps we should bring you upstairs mother. It is late and you need to go to bed."

She didn't respond. She only stood up and took the glass from where her son had placed it. Evelyn downed its contents in one swift movement and placed it back down on the table. "Look at the fireplace son. Do you see what's carved there?" She spoke to him, as a mother spoke to her child.

Caleb stepped towards the fireplace and saw a name carved into the wood._Evie_. His mother's name. He fingered the crevices and traced it in fluid motion. "Did father carve this?"

"He did. Back in the days when he said he wouldn't die."

"We all die Mother."

"Not the same way." She walked to her son and grazed her finger on his cheek. "You may have your father's words, but you have a stronger heart than his. Let's hope that it will be strong enough to save you." She kissed his cheek and walked towards the door. "Carve Sarah's name there. Maybe it will mean more to you than my name did to your father. Goodnight."

His mother never walked. She floated. That night, she floated her way up the stairs leaving him alone in front of the lit fireplace.

**-o-**

Caleb was too tired to think of his mother's words, but somehow, as he like awake in the dead of night, she still managed to find her way into his thoughts. _He had his father's words._ What did that mean?

Most of the times he didn't really mind the things his mother said when she was drunk. They were usually stories about the past or how she and James first met. She never really knew what she was saying during those moments. There would always be that blank look in her eyes that hinted that it was only the intoxication talking and not Evelyn Danvers. But this time, she spoke with her eyes filled to the brim. They were streaming with emotions, ones that couldn't be pushed back by the power of alcohol. Caleb's mother spoke with sense this time, and it was sense that scared him.

He had heard his parents arguing one time. He was still very young then but he knew what they were talking about. It was the addiction that came between them. Always the addiction. He would hear his mother scream at James, telling him that she had had enough of his Using. Evelyn threatened him, the Power or his family. Caleb would never forget the words his father uttered that day, and every time he and his wife had a fight about his _gifts_.

_I promise you that I won't be addicted. I won't fall into that. I have a wife I love and a son to raise. I won't let him grow up without a father. I have too much to lose. I won't let myself fall._

His phone rang beside him to the techno tune that the default settings had provided. It was Sarah. He smiled at the sight of her name on the screen. He sat up on his bed, leaning on the head board and answered his phone.

"Caleb?" she called from the other line. Her soft, kind voice was music to his ears. It was the kind of voice that relaxed him, took away all his tension. It was her voice that she wanted to hear after a hard day, and God knows that this day was as hard as any.

"Hey Sarah. I missed you today." He told her in all honesty.

"I missed you too. I'm sorry I couldn't come to the funeral." She was in Boston that day. She was spending the weekend with her parents and couldn't possibly make it in time for the funeral. Caleb knew she felt bad about it, after all, Reid had become her friend too.

"Don't worry about it. Reid understood." He reassured her.

"How is he?"

"He's being Reid."

"He's taking it pretty hard. He and his dad were close. Closer than my father and I, that's for sure."

"I find that hard to imagine."

"Well, you didn't know Uncle Joseph."

Truth was, Joseph Garwin was everyone's favorite uncle. He was the kind of man who would dress up as Santa Claus for the kids just because none of the other dads wanted to get into the fat suit. Unlike Wayne, he was more responsible with the new Sons of Ipswich. But there was never a dull moment with him.

As a father, no one could ask for anyone better. It was he, not James who talked to Caleb after he got his powers at the age of thirteen. When the addiction finally took its toll on him, he was sent to the hospital. Reid was there, every Sunday, playing cards with his old man.

Sure, Caleb spent a lot of time with his dad too, but never like Reid and Joseph. The death was hard on them all. Reid's aloofness after the funeral was no less then what they expected.

"How are you?" Sarah asked.

Caleb knew that it was not just a nonchalant question. She knew what she meant. She had been asking that more and more since that day in Putnam Barn. _How are you?_ "It's been hard." He replied.

For someone like Caleb, for someone who had ascended with so much power, twice the amount any Son should carry, the Urge was harder to resist. The more power you had, the more it sang to you. It lured you to using, even for the smallest, most trivial tasks. What was worse, he was starting to see Reid's end of it. It felt amazing to use such power. It was more than a drug. It was complete bliss. The euphoria that coursed through your veins, right after using the power was enough to send a man happy to heaven. It was hard to deny such pleasure when it was so utterly _intoxicating_.

"Please Caleb. I know it's hard and I know it's so addictive, but I know you can fight it. You have too."

"I don't know if I can."

"You know you will." She said, her voice wavering in the other line. "I love you. Goodnight." With that the phone call ended. Only the dial tone could be heard from the other side.

He placed his phone on the bedside table.

Caleb got up from bed and walked out of his room. He walked across the corridors and went down the stairs. The fire was still roaring in the den. The light of the embers flickered in the fire place and danced to music unheard.

He took a letter opener from the near by desk and started carving on the fireplace, next to his mother's name.

**Sarah**

His mother had to be right. He may look like his father. He may act like his father. He may have his father's words, but he had to have a stronger heart. He had his mother's heart. He would endure. He had to.

"I have too much to lose. I won't let myself fall."

**A/N: And there we have it. It has been a while since I've been here hasn't it. Whoot for me then that I updated. Now we are given a small insight to the world of one Mrs. Evelyn Danvers. She is almost as numb as Meredith , however, the latter does not need the aid of alcohol to reach such a state. We are also given a little sneak into the pains of Caleb, who is now experiencing the intoxication of addiction. **

**I must admit I am very rusty since I last wrote. Pardon me if this sucks more than most. If I am lucky, it won't be as bad as I think it is. Please be patient with me. Getting back on the horse is a hard task indeed.**

**Prologue IV: Crippled**

**Tyler gets the spotlight! **


	4. Prologue IV: Crippled

**Prologue IV: Crippled**

She looked out of and sighed. She never really did well in funerals anymore. Since her husband died, she never really went out anymore. This was the first time in years that she had been out of her house, and it was all thanks to the death of a dear friend. If only circumstances changed.

It was days like these that made her miss her husband even more. She had been thinking of him the entire funeral, from the moment she walked through the door to the moment they lowered the casket six feet underground.

Joseph Garwin's funeral was practically filled with the same people that filled her own husband's funeral. The wives that had bound themselves to men destined to die. The sons who would never grow to know their fathers as old men. And the friends and family who were kept in the dark about how the person in the coffin truly died. It all seemed to ironic from Rosalind's point of view. But it was an irony that had preserved them through the ages. A irony that had gotten them through the damnation.

Her vision wavered now a days. She could not see as clearly and as vibrantly as she once saw. But she did see the Sons of Ipswich. My, my, how they have grown. Once, little children scurrying around in her back lawn. Now strapping young men with responsibility weighed heavily on their shoulders. None greater, perhaps, than that of Evelyn's son. Caleb. The eldest of the Sons of Ipswich. Rosalind knew the burden well. Her husband had carried it. She knew what it could do to a man.

It could drive him half mad.

Glenn Simms was the first to be born in their generation of the Covenant. A mere month shy of Joseph Garwin, he carried the beacon that would set the example for the lives of the rest of the Sons.

Now, as she looked over to the driver's seat, where her son was driving her home, she was happy to see that there was no sign of that responsibility on Tyler.

It was something that Rosalind had been more than thankful for in all of the years she had spent raising her boy.

He was now a man in her eyes. A man that was every bit of a person his father had taught him to be. If only Glenn were alive to see the fruits of his labor.

Unfortunately, the dead could not talk. They could not tell their sons how proud they were of them. Rosalind had to do that for him. In that respect, she had failed Glenn, over and over again.

Tyler deserved better.

The car stopped, but Rosalind had not noticed. Tyler had gone out of the car to open her door for her. He quickly scrambled for the passenger seat and carried her in his arms, carefully placing her in her wheel chair.

Tyler deserved better than a crippled mother. Both in body. And in spirit.

**-o-**

Wheeling his mother up the ramp filled mansion, Tyler felt a flood of familiarity and a hint of nostalgia course back into his veins. The house had not changed since he had last been in it. His mother had kept it exactly the same. Even the stains on the carpet were kept intact.

A house is only a reflection of it's owner. No truer words were spoken for Rosalind Simms was nothing if not constant. Why, if you even take the time to flip through the pages of old family albums, you'll find that she looked exactly the same as the day she and Glenn met.

The only thing missing would be her strong, standing legs, jumping from the ground as she wrapped her arms around the love of her life. But it was not her legs that defined her. They did not hold the monogamy of strength in his mother.

"You must be tried from the long drive, dear. I can go on ahead, if you'd like to go to your room and rest." Rosalind asked her son, in her mind, whisper of a voice.

"No. I want to." He smiled to his mother, moving forward once again.

His mother's room had been in the first floor, for the past three years. Once, she had resided in the master bedroom on the third floor, but Tyler found that the ramps were a terrible strain on her. Though she would never admit it herself, it was time for a change of scenery with her. It was Tyler who had to give the orders to have her things moved down. Careful to keep it exactly the same in the new room.

It had been three years since Rosalind's accident, but she did not complain. Not once. No one knew if she felt any discomfort. No one knew if she was in any pain. Tyler's mother had two faces. One for the world, and one she kept for herself. Once, she had someone else to look at the latter face. Glenn. Her husband. But the accident that took her ability to walk was also the accident that took the beating away from her heart.

Glenn Simms was the first of the Sons of Ipswich to be buried before his time. But it was a car crash that took his life. Not addiction. It would be something that Tyler could be proud of as long as he lived. His father didn't fall into the addiction. Despite being the eldest of his generation. Despite being the most powerful of his generation. Despite all his contemporaries falling into the depths of temptation. Glenn Simms died of a car accident.

His father and mother were driving home in a hurry that day. Glenn had a date with his son. Tuesday was Tyler's day. A day when father and son would go to some clandestine lake to fish and spend time with each other. Glenn had never missed a day in his life. This day would be the first.

A car had collided with him. Unguarded and distracted, not even the Power could save him from the accident. The car was wrecked and his father's body, beyond recognition. His mother's legs had been crushed by the weight of the wreckage. Sometimes it felt like, all in one day, he lost both his mother and his father. Tyler's mother was never the same after that. No one was.

"The door won't open if you just stare at it, Tyler." His mother smiled at him, caressing his cheek with her loving hand.

Tyler shook his head and grabbed a hold of the doorknob, twisting it, absent-mindedly and wheeling his mother into her room.

"It's this house isn't it? It makes you think of him?" She asked as she moved herself towards her dresser. Rosalind picked up a brush and unpinned her hair, revealing a long waterfall of flaxen hair.

"I've been thinking since the funeral, actually." He sat himself on the seat next to the vanity. "I feel like I should have mourned for Uncle Joseph more. Instead, I was thinking of Father the whole time."

"I'm sure Joseph would have understood, dear. And if it's any consolation, I was thinking of him too. The entire time." There was a distant look in his mother's eyes that he had often seen. It was when she was too tired to remember, but so eager to be lost in the happiness that the memories brought her. An enigma, his mother fought through it, never giving a hint of her inner struggle. But Tyler knew better. He simply never told her.

His mother continued to brush her hair in silence. One stroke after another. From the top of her head to the very tips passed her shoulders. Rosalind wasn't looking at her reflection, but more of what lay passed it. What lay passed the silvery surface. What was beyond there, Tyler could only guess. But he didn't need a lot of them to get the answer right.

"Are you thinking about father?"

She stopped brushing. Rosalind put the brush down on her vanity, beside her hand mirror and looked back at her son.

"Have I ever told you that you look nothing like your father?" she asked him, smiling a faint shadow of a smile.

"No." He smiled back, picking up the brush for himself and brushing his mother's hair for her. "He was the one who told me that. Father told me that I should thank God everyday for only giving me his hair. The rest was all..."

"...was all me. Yes. He said it quite a lot didn't he?"

"He definitely did."

"Tara was the one who looked just like him. Every detail. It was like she was carved after him."

"She got your smile, Mother."

"Did she?" The said smile, crept slowly to Rosalind's lips.

"She did. The smile that tugs on your lips and stays there for the whole world to see." Tyler used his father's exact words. His father had said a lot of things about his mother's beauty. How her hair was stolen sunshine or how her eyes were the only two identical snowflakes in the world. But his favorite was how Rosalind's smile was one that tugged on your lips and stayed there. It was not the prettiest of words, but it was the one that made Glenn smile every time he said it. "Father couldn't stop looking at your smile."

"He was a sentimental fool, your father. A sentimental fool." A tinge of pink spread in his mother's cheeks. She was so shy about taking compliments. Even as a child, Tyler could remember the exact same shade of pink creeping up the same spots in his mother's cheeks whenever his father had said something to praise her.

"He wasn't a sentimental fool. He was a fool in love." Tyler smiled at his mother. he braided his mother's hair, as he had seen her braid Tara's hair countless times. He tied it up with her red, satin ribbon and let it hang down her shoulder.

"You're father would be so proud of you." Her voice, vaguely a whisper. Words threatened with impending tears, though she tried to hide it so desperately.

"I miss him too mother."

Tyler bent down and kissed his mother's cheeks. He understood Rosalind. Though not better than his father had, but he had known enough to see when his mother wanted to be alone.

He did not even bother to ask her if she wanted help getting ready for bed. He already knew that she would not want him in the same room with her for what was about to happen.

As soon as the click of the door's closing kissed the silence of the dead quiet, Tyler could hear his mother's light sobs. They were almost as faint as her own voice.

It was not that Rosalind Simms did not cry. It was that she let anyone see her cry. She was a strong woman. Stronger than she gave herself credit for. Her tears were hers, and her own only. Not even her children could see it.

As Tyler stood outside his mother's room, almost feeling the tears fall on the floors of the room, he couldn't help but think. Would his father still be proud of him for letting his mother cry as she did?

But he could not answer it. No one could assume what the dead felt.

Tyler's phone vibrated in his pocket and he mindlessly drew it out, only to reject the phone call. But as soon as he saw the name on the screen, he found himself almost immobile and numb.

He composed himself, shedding the initial shock as he made his way upstairs, where he sat down and pushed the answer button. On the other line, he could hear breath. Her breath. She knew it. Even after three years.

"Tyler?" The faint voice asked.

He couldn't answer. His throat felt dry and his words lost in his head. But he did know who was on the other line. If he had not even seen the name, the voice that called his name would have been enough to bet his life on.

"Tyler. Please answer me. I know you're angry, but please talk to me."

"I'm not angry." He managed to say.

"Oh Tyler! I am so sorry. I got all the messages late. I was at a friend's house and left my cellphone. No one told me! Oh god, please tell me that Reid is alright. And the others..."

"Slow down Tara." He minded her. "Reid is fine. He's taking it as he should. He's taking it as we expected. It's nothing we can't handle. As for the others, They're fine. They understood."

"What about Mother?"

"She's as she's always been. She'll cope."

"She's been crying?"

"Yes." A very faint confession coming out of Tyler's lips.

"I feel so guilty. I should have been there. I shouldn't have forgotten my phone. Uncle Joseph deserved--"

"It's fine Tara. It's not your fault. It's not like you can get a flight out of New York in a moments notice."

She didn't seem to be listening. She kept on rambling in her saddened panic. Still affected by the initial shock. "My flight is leaving in ten minutes. I'll be there in a few hours."

This felt like too much to handle for one night. One phone call after how many years. It felt almost surreal the way it all seemed. Almost like the past three years were just ghosts that played tricks on his mind.

"You're coming home?"

"I am." Tara said slowly. "I'm coming home."

It had been exactly three years, five weeks and two days since his sister Tara had left home. No one had noticed, but she had gotten on a plane to New York and was not coming back any time soon. She had already made the plans. Aunt Lilia. Blackwell Boarding School. Tara had left one night, not even saying goodbye to anyone but her brother who took her to the airport.

Tyler became worried. The reasons she had left. The way she left things. The way certain people would take her sudden return. "Maybe you shouldn't Tara. With everything that's--"

"No Tyler. I've made up my mind. I'm coming home. For good."

The strings she had left loose would catch up with her. But Tyler was sure that she'd find that things had changed drastically since she had left.

"I'll see you in the airport."


End file.
